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Friday, September 30, 2011

My (not so) Storybook Life: A Tale of Friendship and Faith

I've been reading Liz Owen's blog for a year or so now- she may not know it- I'm kind of a lurker. I love hearing stories about her writing, about her dog Mabel and now the journey she's been on with pregnancy, illness and a new (adorable) baby Jane. Liz writes with humor, and shares her life in a real way that is inspiring. Her faith despite her more recent struggles is so encouraging.

And guess what?! Liz wrote a book! I'm so excited. I've been looking forward to reading it, and can't wait for it to be released (on October 18). But in the meantime, here is an excerpt for you to read:

My (not so) Storybook Life: A Tale of Friendship and Faith

***

Once
one has breathed in the deep pungent aroma of sewage, you never again
forget the nose-hair singeing, eye clawing, throat gagging experience.
It comes over you slowly. You begin to feel like a character in One Flew
Over the Cuckoo’s Nest as your muscles involuntarily jerk and you run
screaming and blowing raspberries. Anything to get away from the
mind-numbing stench.

But let me explain.

It was 6:30 a.m.
I was standing in my retro pink tiled bathroom trying to open my bleary
eyes and ready myself for work. As I stood there, peering into the
mirror and wondering what demented nighttime fairy had planted four new
wrinkles on my face, I paused and sniffed.

I pointed my nose into the air like a hunting dog. “Seriously? You can’t smell that?Did you go to the bathroom in here earlier? I told you to use the room spray when you do things like that.”

Matt
puffed out his bare chest and gathered his pride as best a man can with
sleep in his eyes and a small hole in the side of his underwear. “I
just woke up!”

I
frowned, catching a glimpse of my makeup-less hot-rollers-in-hair state
and tried not to think about the fact that I looked fifty instead of
twenty-nine. “Well, help me figure this out. Because something smells
ripe.”

We sniffed the sink drain and ruled it out as a suspect.

“Is it coming from the toilet?” Matt asked, examining it from top to bottom.

“No,
that’s not it,” I snapped. I’m not known for my milk of human kindness
in a disaster. Don’t get me wrong. I’m a survivor. I plan on eating my
radish like Scarlet and clawing my way out of the nuclear dust while
dragging my loved ones with me. But I won’t be doing it with positive
phrases and a smile.

“Hon,
I just don’t know. We’ll call a plumber after work, maybe it’s coming
from under the house.” Matt staggered a little, trying to get past me
and out of our tiny bathroom.

“Well,
that’s just great,” I moved aside and pulled the shower curtain back so
I could perch on the side of the tub and give Matt room to move out the
door.

That’s
when the full brunt of nastiness filled the air around us, a swirling
mix of excrement and acrid stench that would have brought the sewer
dwelling Ninja Turtles to their knees. Where the normally
slightly-clean-with-a-hint-of-soap-scum bottom of the tub should have
been, there sloshed gallons and gallons of brown sewage.

I clutched the front of my sweatshirt and held my breath. Matt began to dry heave.

“Get out and shut the door!” I screamed as we bumbled into the hallway.

“I’ll deal with this,” Matt grabbed my shoulders, trying to talk and hold his breath at the same time.

I
could feel my eyes glaze over, the horrors of typhoid and hepatitis in
our bathtub filling my mind. But more importantly, I could envision our
evaporated savings account.In
my mind’s eye I could see the long, gray hallway at the bank. A worker
shrouded in a black suit pulled a set of keys from his pocket and
unlatched a small locker labeled “Owen Bank Account.” Inside were two
small stacks of quarters and a few crumpled dollar bills. It was bleak,
not only because the banker with an unimaginative wardrobe gazed at me
with an expression that could only be interpreted as “You’re a Big Fat
Loser,” but also there was a very definite possibility we wouldn’t be
able to pay for a plumber.

I
wasn’t necessarily a spend thrift. In fact, I was downright frugal when
it came to decorating with thrift store furniture and rewired vintage
lamps. But the fact was, we were poor. We were starting out at starter
jobs with starter salaries. We were starter adults with a starter bank
account.

“Okay,”
I nodded numbly, thankful that Matt was taking the lead on such a
disastrous biohazard. “But make sure the plumber is super cheap. We
don’t have much money!”

I
left for work like a wino stumbling through a fog, not really
remembering my commute, not really doing any work as I sipped my coffee
and stared blankly at the computer screen. A disaster of such gargantuan
proportions had previously been unthinkable in my life, and now I found
myself attempting to push the image of a vast sea of bathtub poop from
my mind. But I was sure of one thing: Anne Shirley never had to get
ready for work while breathing raw sewage.

***

Hilarious, no? I cannot wait to read the rest of the book. Lucky for us, Liz is giving away 10 pre-release copies of her book on her blog, Mabel's House. Check it out!

About Me

Blogger, Crafter, Decor admirer. Book hoarder. God lover.
I don’t like to be bored, and try to fill my time with as much as I can. I have Addison’s disease. I really enjoy learning and talking about Addison’s and what it’s like to experience chronic illness. I’d love to meet you! Leave a comment and a link to your blog, and I’m sure we’ll be ‘fast friends’…